SMILE
by pedosmile
Summary: “Open your mouth.” When I did not comply, he gave another bone crushing squeeze and I cried out, thrashing, trying to push him away from me. He only laughed at my pathetic attempts, shoving the blade, perhaps, a fourth of the way into my mouth.


**SMILE**

He always had an affinity for sharp objects like razors and nails and safety pins and knives. Especially knives. If he went too long without a knife in his hand, he would start to get itchy.

Annoyed.

Agitated.

He would threaten me, threaten my friends, until he got a hold of his precious tool of choice. One would think that someone such as him, who can send those to the shadow realm, among other things, would choose something besides _a knife._ But, he was someone who even I couldn't understand.

Not that I tried.

He was insane… and that was putting it lightly. I never understood why he was the way he way but, if I were locked up in an item for centuries, I suppose I wouldn't be to cheerful either. But he… he took his insanity to extreme lengths. He would go on bingers that seemed almost… inhuman, homicidal. I tried to stay away from him. I'd hide, I'd leave, but one can't really escape someone who is in your head, raping your spirit and body.

Not literally, of course.

One night, however, he seemed to be out. As if he had a body of his own. He was ranting and raving about something and I just didn't like it. This time, something seemed different, despite the fact that he had a body of his own that looked identical to me give or take a few things. I was wary.

So, I did what anyone else would do.

I went into the kitchen to grab the nearest sharp object I could find.

It never occurred to me that, perhaps, I would have faired better if I had a blunt object of some sort. A butcher knife was not going to do anything to him except, perhaps, slow him down.

He didn't like that.

I pressed myself against the kitchen counter and he smiled at me, a maniacal smile.

A murderous glint in his eyes.

"Why so serious?" he chuckled. I gripped the butcher knife tightly, trapped, as I watched him draw closer. He, too, was probably armed but with something that was only between him and God. If there was a God.

"Give me the knife."

I shook my head, swinging it out in front of me but only manage to rip the blue and white striped shirt that looked so identical to mine. He sighed, looking down at the hole, before looking at me, one brow raised and a skeptical look sketched across his face.

I suppose I could have done something to him while his attention was diverted but it never occurred to me at the time.

I didn't want to hurt him.

I was afraid to hurt him.

"Give me the knife," he repeated, holding out his hand, thin fingers wiggling impatiently. I shook my head again and he laughed. The laugh was cold, bizarre. It sent chills down my spine and caused goose bumps to dot my skin.

"Why so serious?" he asked again, the same sadistic smile painted on his lips as he grabbed my wrist, applying a harsh pressure that I was not aware he was capable of. I gasped and dropped the knife and he caught it before it could even hit the ground.

He kept his grip on my wrist as he observed the object, eyes round and childish like a cats, before narrowing dangerously as he shifted his attention back onto me. I shrank into the counter, desperate to get away from him.

"Open your mouth."

When I did not comply, he gave another bone crushing squeeze and I cried out, thrashing, trying to push him away from me. He only laughed at my pathetic attempts, shoving the blade, perhaps, a fourth of the way into my mouth. I bit down onto it, desperately hoping he was not going to shove it down my throat. Or even through it.

He sighed again and looked at me, as if he were disappointed in something I had done and asked for the third time, "Why so serious?"

I stared at him, eyes wide, feeling a thrill of fear jolt down my spine and into my stomach, where it began to cramp and knot. I began quivering, small, desperate noises welling from somewhere deep in my throat, sounding much like a trapped animal.

He smiled at those sounds, shifting the knife and watching me, eyes wild, frightening. He listened to my every whimper as he moved the object around carefully in my mouth, tilting his head and giggling.

I could taste the cold metal on my tongue.

I could feel traitorous tears stinging my eyes.

I felt it slice through the tissue and skin and muscle of my left cheek.

Then my right.

I could taste the blood. I could smell it.

The pain was unbearable, I could feel the air hitting the open wound, feel it flapping as I screamed.

"Let's put a smile on that face of yours."

--

Here is my random drabble which was inspired by a story from the Joker in the new Batman movie. The story is as followed, give or take a few things:  
You see, my father was a drinker… and a fiend. And one night, he went off crazier then over. So, mother used a kitchen knife to defend herself. He didn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So he knifed her and then turned to me and asked, "Why so serious?"  
Why so serious?  
He pushed the blade into my mouth and said, "Let's put a smile on that face!"

Haha, hope you enjoyed!


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